


Mystery Is The Basic Appeal

by MissCricket



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: AU where Templars are more numerous and the Chantry rules the land with an iron fist. But the Templars, as powerful as they are, cannot tell whether a man is a mage or not by simply looking at him. Enter Fenris, a man whose tattoos are so sensitive to magic that he can sense mages even if they never cast anything. He is sent to hunt and capture the dangerous and incredibly elusive apostate Anders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air was silent around them except for the rhythmic crunching of their horses’ hooves through the thick snow.

No birds were in the trees, and no creatures of the forest made the branches rustle as they passed by. Snow slowly drifted down from the grey sky above them, muffling the world with white powder. Some would find the silence peaceful, enjoying the perfect stillness of the world, but for Fenris it was too still for his liking.

His companions did not seem to be bothered however. Up in the lead on his white charger, Cullen looked as relaxed as anyone in plate armour could look; helmet off and swaying comfortably with his steed’s steady gait. In front of Fenris, Sebastian too had shucked his hood, flecks of snow settling in his brown hair as he guided his chestnut gelding after Cullen. His bow was settled firmly on his back, lightly strung but not in any state that Fenris would call ‘battle ready’, and although the young man was looking around at the trees, he didn’t look like he was truly on the lookout for danger. Rather he was just taking in the view.

Fenris, taking up the rear on his dainty black mare, silently disapproved of his companions’ lack of caution with every step their horses made through the snow. He kept his hood up, the black fur warming his head, and he had made sure that the sheath for his greatsword was well oiled for ease of drawing, but even so he found he could not relax.

He was not used to travelling so openly, or so slowly. If he had ever made his way by horseback before, he had made sure it was at a speed that few would get a close look at him if they did try to see his face. But now, with the Chantry’s seal of approval in his pouch and in the company of a Templar and a hopeful Chantry Brother/Nobleman, here he was, travelling the road like a slow moving target.

Up ahead he could see the trees opening up, the forest thinning out onto the crest of the cliff. The three came to a stop near the edge, looking down at the plateau and the city that lay nestled there on the coast. To Fenris, who was used to the decaying white marble of Tevinter, the city below looked forbidding and stoic, all grey stone and hard lines. There seemed to be little beauty to it at all, which was surprising to someone who had been enslaved in a household that prized beauty.

“Kirkwall.” Sebastian said quietly beside him. Fenris looked around at his friend, and saw the man was frowning slightly as he gazed upon the city below, “It has been many years since I have seen it.”

“It’s unlikely to have changed,” Cullen grunted softly, unmoving as his horse pawed at the ground “Strange; it doesn’t look like a stronghold for rebellion.”

“I doubt the Mage Rebellion would so blatantly advertise themselves.” Sebastian quietly rebuked the Templar, “And yet Her Holiness says this city is the centre for the cause. Mages hiding in plain sight and causing unrest.”

“Why is this city so different?” Cullen asked, looking across at Sebastian curiously, “Why are these Mages so different?”

“They’re organised.” Sebastian informed him, fingers idly tracing the design on his saddle, “They have a leader, and they have a network. They are no rabble. They are building an army, and that makes them dangerous.”

“Which is why we’re here, right?” Cullen chuckled dryly as he backed his horse up and moved towards the path down, “Sounds like a holiday to me.”

Sebastian trotted after him, and Fenris could hear his accented voice lift in a scolding tone as the two men disappeared down the path.

He made no move to follow them yet though, just watching the city quietly and thinking about what had to be done.

“That is why we’re here.” He murmured, gathering up his reins once more, before following his friends down the mountainside.

~*~

From the moment he entered, Fenris did not like the feel of the Kirkwall Chantry.

There was something oppressive about it, something about the heavy bronze statues, the velvet pennants of the Andrastian sun. Everything about it seemed heavy, heavy handed decorations and offerings and heavy stone walls and floors. Everything about it screamed opulence and reverence.

Walking behind Sebastian and Cullen, Fenris was free to glance around under the shadows of his hood, and he took in the Sisters tending the votives, the people crouched before the statues, whispering their desperate prayers. A young woman knelt before the centre pennant, her blonde head bowed and he heard quiet murmurings, snatches of the Chant and pleading. It made him uncomfortable and he looked away from her.

Eyes flicked to them as they entered, taking in the burning sword sigil on Cullen’s armour, and the crest of Starkhaven on Sebastian’s bow and quiver and also the likeness of Andraste’s holy face on his belt buckle. Only the briefest of glances rested on the smaller figure following them, all dismissing him as inconsequential as soon as they recognised the elven build underneath the cloak.

Many knew that the Grand Cleric had sent to Orlais for reinforcements, for the expertise of the Witchunter. Tales abounded through Thedas of the Witchunter who was able to tell a Mage just by being in their presence, unlike Templars who needed the presence of an actual spell to detect a magic user. No one knew how he detected the magic, but everyone knew that his methods were infallible. The eyes that followed Cullen and Sebastian knew this.

This was how they wanted it to be.

Rumours would soon fly around the city, whispers of the Mage hunter in Kirkwall, and these people would tell about the entrance of the young Vael from Starkhaven, and his Andrastian armour and they would remember his Templar escort.

The Mages and their supporters would focus on these two, thinking one of them was the feared Witchunter that travelled Thedas catching all those who possessed a magical gift. They would ignore the elf that shadowed them, and the fear of the two human males would flush the Mages out of their holes when they were not around.

It was a tried and true strategy, one that the three of them had successfully employed many times throughout Nevarra and Orlais before a messenger caught up with them with orders from The Divine herself to resolve the rebellion in Kirkwall.

“The Grand Cleric will see you now.” A woman with short dishwater blonde hair, dressed in the robes of the Kirkwall Chantry, stepped out of the shadows by one of the staircases leading upwards. Her grey eyes fell on Sebastian, dismissing Cullen and Fenris equally from her attention, “Prince Vael, follow me.”

“’Prince Vael, follow me.’” Cullen mimicked in oily tones to Fenris and Sebastian, prompting the Prince to smile and cover it up with his hand, smoothing it from his face. Fenris’ lips quirked only slightly, green eyes still tracking the Mother as she climbed the stairs. His attention was not on his companions, but the Chantry around them, alert for any troubles, “May I lick your shiny boots too M’lord?”

“My boots aren’t shiny Cullen.” Sebastian reminded him, as they brushed past the woman to enter the Grand Cleric’s study, “We’ve been on the road for days. Your Grace...” And he knelt gracefully before the small grey haired woman standing beside the desk, “It is a great pleasure and honour to see you again.”

“Sebastian...” the Grand Cleric smiled as Cullen and Fenris also bowed in obeisance, “Please all of you rise. Sit...” She sat behind her desk and nodded at the Mother still lingering at the door. “You may leave us Mother Petrice.” The door shut quietly behind her and the Grand Cleric nodded, “Welcome to Kirkwall all of you. You must be Ser Cullen.” She greeted the Templar, “And you must be Fenris...I am Grand Cleric Elthina.”

“A pleasure to meet you Your Grace.” Cullen performed the pleasantries while Fenris nodded politely, “We hope we will be able to help you during this difficult time.”

“Straight to business I see,” Elthina smiled at the young Templar and nodded, “Yes it is a difficult time. As I said in the missive to the Divine, the Mages here are organised. They have an efficient and effective underground which manages to smuggle powerful Mages out of the Circle before Knight Commander Meredith can neutralise them. She is at her wits end. As am I.”

“Which is why we are here.” Sebastian said giving Cullen a small smile, “To end this rebellion against the might of the Maker.”

“Indeed.” Elthina nodded, pushing across a parchment dossier, “This is the information we have on their leader. Meredith sent me it when I told her you would be arriving. She is...detained, trying to bolster security at the Tower.”

Cullen picked up the file and opened it, feeling Fenris’ green eyes observing both him and the Grand Cleric

“His name is Anders.” Elthina said, leaning back in her leather lined chair, “It is not his real name, but it is definitely the name he goes by now. The Fereldan Circle noted that his aptitude was centred around Healing, but who knows. It is likely he has turned to Blood Magic in his wicked corruption. He escaped the Fereldan Circle and was claimed by the Hero of Fereldan to be a Grey Warden. It is uncertain whether he became one or she let him go...”

“What matters is that he is here now...and plotting to destroy this city, and all others with his cursed magic.” The voice from behind them was new and Sebastian and Cullen turned around sharply with quickly indrawn breaths.

Fenris stayed where he was, eyes on the Grand Cleric, before he too slowly turned to look at the woman standing behind them.

She was handsome, with thick waving, platinum blond hair, and blue eyes of a piercing shade. Her armour was of fine make and bore the sigil of the Templar order.

“Knight Commander...” Elthina welcomed her with a warm smile, “I am glad that you were able to make it. I hope the situation at the Gallows has been...”

“It has been dealt with, thank you Grand Cleric.” Meredith said, walking in to stand beside her on the other side of the desk from the three hunters. “Which one of you is the Witchunter?” She asked, bluntly, fixing them with an unnervingly direct stare, “I do not wish to play games or be deceived by them. The situation is far too grave for that.”

There was silence for a brief moment and then Fenris spoke.

“I am.”

The woman and elf stared at one another for long moments and then the Knight Commander nodded. “Good. I am grateful you are here. I believe this is far direr than anyone is yet aware of. Here...this is a sketch of Anders.” And she passed him a parchment scroll bearing the likeness of a handsome man with a strong nose and jaw, a stubborn mouth and shoulder length scruffy hair. “The hair is fair, eyes are dark, and skin is pale.”

Fenris considered the drawing before tucking it away in his belt pouch.

“Any known associates?”

“No, none.” She sighed crossly, “Only Mages who are also underground.”

“I see...”

“I’m afraid we have no more than that.” Meredith braced her hands on the desk and her blue eyes met his green ones once more, “Now you know why we sent for you. He is dangerous, and clever, and very good at escaping capture. We need him caught.”

Fenris gave a small humourless smile.

“That, is why I’m here.”


	2. Chapter 2

“We have a problem.”

Anders looked up from the mess that his office had become and blinked at the sight of Karl and Nathaniel standing there before his desk, both with serious expressions on their faces.

Well the serious expressions hadn’t been as much of a surprise as their actual presence. Nathaniel had always been a serious sort that Anders had often teased for his lack of a sense of humour, and Karl, well Karl had once upon time been just as irreverent as Anders. That had changed though, first with the sun brand on his forehead and then with his possession by the spirit of Justice Nathaniel and he had dragged with them from Amaranthine.

This possession had allowed him to regain some of his connection with the Fade, restoring his emotions and personality, but his magic had been severed permanently. It had taken long weeks for Karl to grieve for the powers that had once flowed through him as naturally as his breath and then to consent to learning how to wield one of those broadswords.

In that Justice had aided, remembering well how Kristoff’s body had moved, and he with it. Together they had adjusted so that Karl could become a passable warrior, invaluable in their struggle against the Mage Oppression.

Still there they both stood, across the desk from Anders, blue lines rippling across Karl’s skin, as both the former Mage and spirit watched the leader of the Mage resistance.

“Since when have we not had problems?” Anders retorted to Justice’s comment, leaning back in his seat and lacing his hands across his stomach, “It seems to me our lives have been nothing but problems ever since we decided to help the Mages fight back. Whose brilliant idea was that by the way? I owe them a candle, or a quick kick to the crotch.”

“Justice was required,” Justice growled back, the blue flaring more brightly as he focused on Anders, “Mages being oppressed was unjust.”

“Fun as it is to listen to the two of you bicker is,” Nathaniel snarked back drawing the attention of Mage, Spirit and tranquil, “This really is a problem Anders...”

“Velanna burnt dinner again?” Anders asked hopefully.

“No. And don’t let her catch you saying that.”

“It WAS burnt. You agree don’t you Karl? Justice?”

“There was a...distinct taste of charcoal to the meal yes.”

“See? My point exactly.” Anders looked smug as Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

“Velanna isn’t cooking today. Merrill is.”

Anders looked pained.

“Have you managed to convince her that over ten cloves of garlic is too much for a soup?”

The silence from his second was answer enough and Anders groaned, letting his head thump down on the table, “At this rate the Templars will just have to follow the scent of our breaths!”

“Speaking of the Templars,” Nathaniel continued doggedly, “The Knight-Commander sent for the Witchunter. He’s here in Kirkwall.”

Anders sat up sharply, all insouciance falling away, “THE Witchunter? The one who has been catching all those Mages?”

“The Witchunter,” Nathaniel confirmed, “Mistress Selby was praying in the Chantry when the Prince of Starkhaven walked in with a Templar and were escorted immediately to the Grand Cleric’s office. Meredith was there too.”

“She also overheard the Mother that let them into the office boasting about how the Witchunter would bring all heathen mages to heel.” Karl supplied, Justice having slipped back into a slightly more passive state, “She didn’t know which one of them was the Hunter. No one said.”

“The Templar, surely.” Anders said, lip curling with distaste, “What wouldn’t I give for a spell to blast all of them out of Creation.”

“No,” Nathaniel countered, “If it was a Templar ability they all would be able to do it. It must be the Vael.”

“They’re a royal bloodline of Archers. Like you.” Anders retorted, “And you couldn’t tell a Mage from your arse.”

“My arse has less chance of being a Mage than other people out there.” Nathaniel bit back, rolling his eyes, “Be serious Anders.”

“I am being serious! How can we plan a counter offensive when we don’t even know which of them is the Hunter.”

“You must withdraw all of the Mages,” Karl said, placing his hand on the mahogany of the desk, “Even the plants you have in the Chantry and the Viscounts office.”

“Do you have any idea how long it took to get plants everywhere in Kirkwall?” Nathaniel barked. He was the one in charge of intelligence for the Rebellion, the one who gathered the information and filtered it into useable information for the revolutionaries, “We would be blind!”

“We cannot risk them being discovered!” Karl hissed back, Justice surging to the fore once more, “Their deaths would be an injustice and would serve no purpose!”

“He is dangerous I grant you, but we cannot react wildly without any information!” Nathaniel jabbed his finger down on the desk, “To do so would be foolish!”

“We need to know the extent of his abilities, without jeopardising our Mages.” Anders spoke, leaning back in his chair, feeling weary under the weight of his command, “Get Merrill, and ask her if she will volunteer to bait a trap.”

“What do you have in mind Anders?” Nathaniel’s voice was soft, “What if he can tell she’s a Mage?”

“Then we know don’t we. Have them cross paths with Merrill where we choose. If he moves to attack or capture we respond...”

“It is very risky,” Justice said softly, “What if he captures Merrill?”

“I would do it myself but...”

“No.” Nathaniel, Justice and Karl spoke as one.

“...but I doubt you would let me.” Anders smiled tiredly, “Ask her...don’t command it.”

“As you wish.” And Nathaniel inclined his head.

“As you wish,” Justice nodded and Karl moved out of the room.

Anders rubbed his face tiredly and Nathaniel’s eyes softened with pity for his friend.

“You should get out more...” He said softly, moving behind the Mage leaders chair and reaching out to rub his shoulders gently, “Or at least delegate some of this. Bethany would help.”

“I need Bethany where she is. Teaching the young ones.” Anders sighed, leaning back to rest his head against the Archers chest, “You’re right though...I need to get out. That’s why I’m coming with you when we test the Witchunter.”

He expected arguing, but was surprised when Nathaniel simply kneaded out a knot from his neck.

“I’d caution you. But I know you will ignore it.”

Anders smiled blissfully, “And they say Nobles never learn.”

This time he was right when he expected the light smack about the head.


	3. Chapter 3

Entering the Lowtown Bazaar had been a shock to Fenris.

He had been so used to the quiet of the road, the stillness of the snow covered roads. He had never much liked crowds of people, having spent the first portion of his remembered life scurrying around Minrathous and Seheron at the behest of his Mage owner, and now, here in Kirkwall he felt annoyance skitter down his spine as he followed Cullen and Sebastian into the crush.

Smells fought for dominance in his nostrils; the scent of chicken being char roasted and strung up, wafts of bodily odour, perfume and the underlying scent of stone and decaying civilisation. Amongst the crowd the noises assailed his sensitive ears; loud voices, shouts, screaming infants, laughing children, calling tradesfolk. It was chaos.

He saw Sebastian and Cullen stop at a stall that specialised in weapons and flicking them some hand gestures to tell them he would be right back, he ducked away down a side alley.

The lessening of the heat from the crush of people and the cessation of the cacophony about his ears made him sigh with relief and tug his black fur cloak tighter about his shoulders. He had wanted to keep his hood up, hide away from curious stares, but Cullen and Sebastian had cautioned him against such actions.

He had to appear comfortable, and harmless. Being shrouded would only add to their problems.

Moving up some side steps Fenris caught the smell of freshly baked bread, and he instantly turned towards it, moving over to the stall which was being run by a plump woman with a kindly face and large doughy hands. She was just handing over a small pie to a slender elf with black hair and large green eyes, and the scroll work of Dalish tattoos over her skin.

He stepped up to the stall mouth opening to ask for a baked roll when suddenly his Lyrium fizzed against his skin.

Mage.

Instantly his gaze snapped back to the Dalish elf, who thanked the store keeper with a lilting voice and walked away, heading over to a female dwarf who materialised out of the shadows to fall into step behind her.

“What can I get you love?”

He turned back to the store keeper who was giving him a warm smile.

“A fresh baked roll...if you please.” Fenris’ voice was stilted, his markings now fizzing with anticipation. Now that he was paying attention, really focused on his gifts, he could sense quite a few Mages around. Some of them felt like tiny whispers against the Lyrium, their power not enough to really interest him. But others...

He could feel their powers, their cursed magic like an itch in his mind. But with concentration he narrowed his attention down to the two most powerful. 

One he was sure was the Dalish mage from the stall, the other...she was heading towards them, and its magic practically glowed in Fenris’ mind.

He didn’t know why the Lyrium allowed him to sense Mages. Why he was able to sense their power before they could even cast. It made him invaluable to the Chantry and it provided him with ample opportunity to wreak revenge on Mages for what had been done to him.

In a daze he paid the woman and slipped back down the stairs, hurrying back to where he had left Cullen and Sebastian.

The two men were still there, although Sebastian was paying some coins into the purveyors hand and Cullen was holding a longsword like it was a cherished child.

“Fenris! There you are,” Cullen grinned as he caught sight of their elven friend, “Look at the craftsmanship on this...Fenris?”

Sebastian turned away from the stall, having paid, and moved over to join the two as they all came together in a huddle, “You sensed one, didn’t you.” The Prince murmured, his eyes fixed on his friend’s face.

“Two...powerful ones.”

“Powerful?” Cullen’s eyes lit up, “Do you think it’s Anders?”

“Whispers would have spread by now...” Sebastian considered, fingers idly tracing the protective signs that were etched into his ring, “Perhaps he is curious?”

“It might not be him.” Fenris reminded them, “But they are powerful and...” another scan and he nodded, “Close together. They know one another.”

“Could be part of the rebellion.” Cullen nodded, “Right, let’s check it out. Where are they Fenris?”

“The higher tier of the Market.” Fenris informed them softly, “One of them is a Dalish elf, black hair green eyes.”

The two men nodded and moved off through the crowd, continuing to pretend to browse, Fenris following silently in their wake.

It took them a while but slowly, slowly they made it up and the crowd cleared enough for Fenris to see the Dalish elf standing near the stairs up into Hightown, the female dwarf beside her.

And as one, Sebastian and Cullen focused on her.

She didn’t notice at first but then her head came up as they advanced and fear flashed across her face.

“You must come with us miss...” Cullen called, “By order of the Knight Commander...”

He cleansed their little sphere of all magic, and Fenris saw her sway, at the same time he felt the typical tug on his markings, responding to the ability.

They were closing in when suddenly fire blazed before them and Sebastian leapt back.

“You shall not have her!”

And lifting his head Fenris saw a man, a man with honey brown eyes, fair hair and lightning glittering in his palms.

“Anders...” Cullen hissed.

~*~

“Are we all ready? Where’s Merrill?” 

To say that Anders was nervous when he turned up at the rendezvous point would have been an understatement. But he was even more nervous when he realised Merrill, who was staging the big risk, was not even there.

Craning his neck he peered around and deduced finally that the little Dalish elf was indeed not there.

“She went to get something to eat,” Nathaniel said calmly, “Sigrun went with her,” he added when Anders opened his mouth, “No harm will come to her.”

“Mistress Hammersley is selling her goods down by the lower markets.” Lady Elegant informed him as he slipped by her to crouch with the others behind the silks of her stall, “Merrill saw them on her way up from the Alienage.”

“What was she doing down in the Alienage?” Karl enquired, frowning slightly, “It’s far too dangerous...”

“Mistress Hammersley? Really?” Anders turned towards Nathaniel, ignoring Karl’s disapproving frown, “Nathaniel...”

“No.”

“But...she has...”

“No.”

“You are so mean to me.” Anders pouted, “How can I function when all I can think about are her spicy meat turnovers! Answer me that!”

“And you say he’s the leader of this rebellion?” Elegant arched an eyebrow at Nathaniel who shrugged helplessly, “I’m defecting after this, just so you know.”

“And then who will go on those herb hunting expeditions for you?” Nathaniel returned, smirking faintly when she inclined her head, acknowledging his point, “And as for you...” he turned back to Anders, who was trying to look pitiful, “Stop that, you had breakfast not an hour ago, you walking bottomless pit.”

“Cheek!” Anders blustered, “Like you can talk! I saw you with all that bacon this morning Nathaniel.”

“I’m not the one whining about not having a spicy meat turnover you big baby.” The archer then turned to Karl, leaving Anders to sulk, “She was in the Alienage following up a young mage report.”

“That is...reasonable.” Karl allowed, nodding slowly.

“Did it come to anything?” Anders asked, lifting himself slightly to peer over the stall counter and getting a sharp smack from Nathaniel for his troubles, “Ow! Nate...”

“Be serious. You know the Templars got a good look at your face last time you participated in Resistance activity, no need for you to put us in extra danger or take further risks.”

“Nathaniel is correct Anders.” Karl murmured, blue flickering along the rim of the Tranquil brand, “You know he is.”

“Justice always takes your side,” Anders grumbled at Nathaniel, but hurried on before the other man could open his mouth, “Nevertheless you make a point.”

“As for the young Mage...” Nathaniel continued, wisely not gloating about his victory and continuing the discussion, “He was gifted. But...he’s showing the signs very young.”

“How young?”

“..He is around five years old.”

Anders closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Do the Templars know of his existence?” Karl asked the question, the blue lines flickering brighter around his mark, “Or were we able to retrieve him first?”

“Feynriel went with Merrill, and got him out of the city.”

Sighs of relief went up from both the spirit, Karl and Anders. None of them liked to hear of young children either taken from their families to the Circle, or the more frequent stories of young mages slaughtered before they could get to them.

Templars weren’t above striking down a child refusing to leave its mother.

Not when their orders came from the Knight Commander.

Anders shook his head, dislodging the dark thoughts, just in time for Nathaniel to gently nudge him with his elbow.

“Up the stairs, Merrill’s coming,”

Karl, Nathaniel and Anders ducked under the silks at the back of Lady Elegant’s store and up the small carved steps that led upwards towards the roof of the house behind. It was one of the small, low roofed houses, with only a calf high stone wall. But it was enough for the three men to hide upon and watch what unfolded below.

Merrill came into view, Sigrun shadowing her, and paused to speak with Elegant. She had a small pie in her hand, and Anders, enviously, could see the warm heat drifting from it in the cold air.

Nathaniel elbowed him again.

“Stop oogling the pie Anders.”

“You know me too well. I need a new best friend.”

 

The rogue didn’t reply, but Anders could see his lips curling up slightly in a small half smirk half smile.

“There they are,” 

Karl’s voice drew Anders gaze away from Nathaniel and the pie and down into the crowded square, taking in the wandering shapes of the Templar and the Prince. 

He didn’t even notice the black cloaked elf behind them, but Nathaniel did, grey eyes resting on the heavy weight of the greatsword on his back.

“Makers...balls!” Anders hissed a moment later as the men suddenly paused in their steps, fair head and dark auburn turning as one towards Merrill standing near Elegant.

“They /can/ sense Mages....” Nathaniel whispered, shocked and rather displeased by the revelation.

“Get her out of there.” Anders ducked away from the wall, pushing Karl and Nathaniel towards the staircase, “I’ll distract them. Get her back to the Sanctuary.”

For once neither man argued, although Nathaniel gripped his arm tightly, briefly before disappearing, leaving Anders alone.

“You must come with us miss...” A male voice called, “By order of the Knight Commander...”

Anders head popped over the wall again.

The Templar was the one who had spoken, a man whose face was very familiar, and the Prince was circling around towards Merrill. Merrill who looked a little....wrung out.

Magicka cleanse.

Anders didn’t think, he just acted.

The fireball landed with precision, close enough to send the Prince leaping back like a scalded cat, but not near enough to burn or damage anything. Anders stood, summoning lightning into his hands and called down to the two men.

“You shall not have her!”

The Templar, Prince and the strange looking elf beside them all looked up at him and Anders blinked as he recognised the Templar as one of the ones from the Fereldan Circle.

“Anders...” Cullen hissed.

“I wish I could say it was good to see you again...” he smirked, tossing the ball of lightning up and catching it once again, “But that would be lying. And it’s far too early in the day for such things is it not Cullen.”

The elf and the Prince looked at their friend incredulously and the Templar shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re under arrest Anders.”

“That’s nice...” Anders drawled back, drawing a lightning shape in the air, “Except for the fact that, oh yeah you have to actually catch me first.”

He cast the lightning down.

And ran.

He heard shouting from behind him but he didn’t dare look, too busy leaping through a window and haring though a dingy living area to really give the chaos he had wrought, much of a glance.

Ducking down another flight of stairs he leapt, landing on the sandy street and took off once more, grateful that he had chosen to wear breeches and a tunic that day. The cloak was slowing him though so he unclasped it, dropping it as he leapt up, grabbing a window ledge and hauling himself through.

He was halfway through the new room when the door splintered and the strange looking elf from before came barrelling through, hot on his heels.

“Andraste’s flaming, fungus filled breasts!” Anders yelped dashing through yet another door and slamming it shut,

He jammed it with some wood and took off running again, sprinting upwards, ever upwards into the middle districts.

So concerned was he with the sounds of pursuit from behind, that he didn’t realise until he came to a skidding halt, that he had charged down a wrong way, and had ended up in a courtyard with no quick exits.

He turned, hoping to run back the other way before the elf could catch up, but gulped as he came face to face with a white haired, green eyed elf, dressed in armour and unsheathing a greatsword.

“Ah....” Anders said, reaching for his magic once more, “Well now...”

The elf smirked faintly, stepping forward.

“You were saying?” he growled in a deep voice before leaping into the attack.


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris had underestimated the mage.

Usually his targets, feeling death approaching with inexorable swiftness if they didn’t surrender, would succumb to blood magic. He knew how to fight blood magic, the skills that had been ingrained in him since his creation by Danarius. A blood mage himself, the rogue mage had performed experiments on various elves and humans, until he had succeeded and created Fenris.

A living weapon to protect him, able to destroy other blood mages, and combat Templars.

But humans were never meant to be slaves, to be wholly, unquestioningly obedient, and Danarius had misjudged Fenris. The elf had fled, and although the Chantry encouraged him to hunt down his former master, he had never been able to trace him.

Except for the paid mercenaries who tried to recapture him of course.

This Anders, this rebel leader, was different.

Instead of attacks on his mind, his resolution, instead of blood magic gripping at his body, he was ducking fireballs, dancing through electrical bolts, diving away from ice blasts.

Anders was more powerful than his usual opponents, and while that made the savage side of him growl with pleasure at a challenge, the analytical side cautioned him to measure his own attacks.

They were a blur of motion, a beautifully choreographed dance of death, where misstep could mean the end of their existence. 

Fenris leapt, avoiding another rush of flame as he came down towards the mage, sword raised. Anders pivoted, leaping back in time to block the blow with his staff. The blade sank into the wood and then the metal that formed the centre of the mage weapon, and Fenris wasted valuable time trying to wrench it out.

He succeeded, in time to fling himself to the ground as ice flowed over the air which he had just been occupying. Little ice flakes landed on the elf’s face as he lunged up, sweeping with his blade, only to be countered by the metal base of the mage’s staff. 

They were close together now, and he could see the mage’s chest rising and falling with exertion, see the sweat rolling down his cheek, streaking the dust from his race through the streets. Their eyes met, but there was no fear in those honey eyes, merely determination to fight on to the bitter end.

Fenris had underestimated this mage.

Their fighting was vicious, weapons wheeling and clashing as Fenris pushed his opponent back and back. Occasionally Anders got enough range to let off a spell and Fenris knew that his armour and skin were singed from the close calls. Neither of them were giving up though, not Fenris and not Anders, even though some of the cuts that Fenris had managed to inflict were dripping blood.

He did not use them.

It unsettled him.

The tempo of the fight picked up, weapons blurring, Fenris’ brands lighting up with bright fire as he pushed his martial advantage, Anders’ staff blocking him at every turn but with less and less time to do it in. Their eyes never left one another, so focused were they on one another and their fight that they didn’t notice they were no longer alone.

Until an arrow sliced through the air, piercing Fenris’ leg.

A snarl and the warrior stumbled back, silver head scanning the rooftops for his second opponent.

There, he saw him, on a balcony, a man with a bow, black hair blowing in the winter’s air. It had been the fluttering of hair and cloak that caught the elf’s attention, and he charged towards the building, diving for cover as yet another fireball singed the ground where he had been.

The fight changed again now, the advantage falling with the Mage and his archer ally, as Fenris was forced to defend off two fronts of attack. 

Suddenly the archer fired three arrows in quick succession, forcing Fenris behind a pillar, as more arrow bolts clattered around him until silence suddenly fell.

Cautiously the elf moved out from behind his pillar, although without any real trepidation. His enemies were gone, the Mage having used the arrow cover to flee out into the streets of Kirkwall. He could not even sense him anymore. 

Slowly his eyes lifted to the house where the archer had been, meeting the grey eyes of the man, who was standing on the roof now, bow curved and arrow pointing at Fenris’ heart.

“I want you to take a message back to your masters.” The man said in a deep gravelly voice. “Tell them that they may have a knack for sniffing out Mages...but freedom is always worth fighting for. They will have no satisfying surrender from us.”

“You will not succeed.” Fenris growled back, “They will hunt you down.”

“And we will fight.”

And with in a blink he was gone, disappearing in that frustrating way some roguish fighters had.

Leaving Fenris to limp back to his headquarters, mind awhirl with thoughts and re-evaluations 

~*~

“That was too close,” Nathaniel stormed, slamming the door to Anders office shut as the Mage slumped into his chair. Merrill, seated in a chair next to the desk, squeaked at the loud noise, and Karl and Justice frowned from their place leaning against the wall, “I was an idiot to have allowed you to concoct such a halfbaked plan Anders.”

“Hey we’re all still here and alive aren’t we?” Anders tried to inject a bit of levity into his voice, even though deep inside he was still quaking from the confrontation with that elf, “I think I even burned off all the energy I would have gotten from one of those spicy meat turnovers, if you’d let me have one...”

“You didn’t need one.” Nathaniel growled.

“What if it had been my last meal?” Anders threw a dramatic hand out, “Merrill got a last meal, why couldn’t I?”

“I would have gotten you one Anders if I had known...” Merrill began.

“He didn’t need one.” Nathaniel told her and then turned back to Anders, “You didn’t need one and you shouldn’t have needed a last meal because you shouldn’t have had to put yourself into danger.”

“There was no choice Nathaniel, they were closing in.” 

“Then we should have had a contingency plan, Anders we have to be more careful. You are the leader of this rebellion...”

“That doesn’t mean I matter more than someone else.” Anders rubbed his face, “Maker Nate...today was too close...but if I hadn’t drawn their attention they would have Merrill now. And it all worked out in the end...we’ll just...be more careful next time.”

There was silence for a few moments and then Merrill spoke quietly, 

“What happened?”

“The elf...the white haired elf with them? He chased me down.” Anders sighed, “We fought...”

“Is he dead?” Justice asked suddenly.

“What?” Anders looked across at Karl, taking in the blue glittering around the brand of Tranquility, “No, he’s not dead.”

“He is not fighting on the side of justice...” 

“He’s their servant.” Nathaniel said firmly, “His free will is questionable at best. We can’t go round killing everyone who opposes us.”

“We’d never have time to sleep.” Merrill agreed, “Or eat for that matter...”

“What happened to the Prince and the Templar?” Anders asked Justice, “You didn’t kill them did you?”

“No. They live.” Karl considered Anders, “Justice wasn’t happy about it...but they live.”

“They can sense Mages.” Merrill said softly, “And that Templar, he can smite them.”

“Speaking of the Templar, he knew you Anders...” Nathaniel moved forward, leaning against the desk, “How?”

“He was a Templar at the Fereldan Circle of Mages.” Anders gave a small smile, “Cullen. He was there when the entire Circle...except for me and a few others, were completely annulled.”

“He murdered innocents?” Justice glowed brighter, taking over Karl again.

“In his defence...” Anders sighed, “It was a bad situation. Blood Mages, demons...the entire circle was awash with them. And Templar’s don’t react gently...they react with the full force of the hammer. So they annulled the Circle.”

“What about you?” Merrill asked softly, “Why were you not...?”

“The Hero of Fereldan...they were arguing over what to do with me. I’d been in solitary confinement during the entire ordeal. Saw a bit of it...saw a cat get possessed actually. Took down a few of the buggers he did, before they killed him. Poor Mr Wiggums.”

“Mr Wiggums?” Nathaniel drawled.

“That is so sad.” Merrill sighed, “Poor little thing.”

“Who named it Mr Wiggums..Anders...”

“I didn’t name him!” Anders shakes his head firmly, “But he was a good cat...I owe him a lot. Ser Pounce A Lot would never have gotten such an excellent home and name if it weren’t for him.”

“Maker preserve us this rebellion is doomed isn’t it..” Nathaniel flopped into a chair, “Tell my sister I love her.”

“And you call me dramatic...” Anders flicked a roll of parchment at the rogue, who batted it back with a glare, “Anyway the Hero of Fereldan went in there to sort out the mess, and came across little old me in my cell. Let me out and had me help them out. We found Cullen after he had been tortured by Blood Mages. Poor bastard was almost mad from pain, grief and just from the magic itself. Afterwards he wanted them to kill me too...but the Hero took me along. Said a healer would be useful. And here I am...”

“And she still made you a Warden?” Nathaniel shook his head, “I thought she was a sensible lady.”

“She recruited you...” Anders reminded him, “And Justice over there. And Oghren, Sigrun AND Velanna.”

“Do you think he is the Witchunter?” Merrill asked softly, “Or do you think it’s the Prince?”

“He didn’t show any signs of Mage sensing when he was a Templar in the tower.” Anders said, shaking his head, “But I don’t know...”

“The Prince seems more likely then...” Karl murmured, Justice have gone quiescent again, “Do you think that the elf might change allegiances?”

Nathaniel and Anders looked at one another.

“We have to try,” The archer said finally, sighing, “We need more information and right now the elf is our best bet. I can...”

“No...” Anders swallowed, the memory of green eyes and gleaming lyrium burning in his brain, “No...I will...”

“But...”

“This is most reckless Anders...” 

“You might....”

“I know...” he interrupted the three of them, silencing them, “I just...this is my call...”

Nathaniel looked at Anders and sighed, even as the other two nodded and quietly left, “Just remember he’s dangerous...? Don’t take any risks...”

“I’ll be careful Nate...” Anders promised, “I’m naturally cautious..”

“You’re naturally full of it.” Nathaniel growled back, “But...don’t die? I’d have to lead this mess if you did.”

Anders smiled at his best friend and pegged another scroll at his head, “I love you too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter was written while listening to:
> 
> Caoineadh Na Mara / Amen (Lament Of The Sea) by Mary McLaughlin

Fenris couldn’t sleep.

Slowly the elf sat up in bed, tugging his heavy fur coverlets up to wrap around himself as he did, shivering slightly at the sharp chill of the winter air against his bare skin before the furs settled around him like a warm cocoon.

The Vael estate was silent, no footsteps or voices to break the quiet of a household asleep and Fenris sighed softly.

Sebastian and Cullen were upstairs in the grander suites of the house, but Fenris had chosen this smaller bedroom down on the second level of the estate. Something in him balked at the idea of sleeping in those grand, opulent beds. Perhaps it was yet another legacy from Danarius, this distaste of grand, over garnished things.

Somehow this small room with its simple elegance had appealed to him more than the lavish suite upstairs.

“Things do not have to be obvious to be beautiful.” Fenris murmured softly, feeling his lips curl up slightly at the sentiment.

He contemplated the thought for a few more moments, until he was startled out of his musings by a soft noise from under his window.

Someone was climbing up the vine. Ears pricked, Fenris looked across at the window, hand reaching out towards his sword and pulling it closer. Perhaps it was a thief.

“Ow...” hissed whoever was climbing up the vine outside.

Probably not, thieves were usually quieter.

But there was something...something niggling at him, something familiar brushing against his mind. He shook his head crossly, disliking the sensation and sat still, eyes watching the window.

He did not expect the man to haul himself ungracefully over the sill and then tumble to the floor in a flail of limbs and a hissed, “Ow!”

But he did recognise him when he stood and honey eyes met his green.

Anders lifted his hand in an awkward little wave.

“Hey there.”

The Mage leader of the rebellion, the man he was supposed to be hunting down, had climbed up the side of the Vael estate to climb into his window....Fenris could honestly say this had never happened before. But it did explain the strange little niggle in his head. It was his Lyrium reacting to the familiar signature of the Mage before him, the unique feel of Anders’ magic. 

Vanhedis he must be tired if he was missing obvious signals like that.

“Anders.” He growled finally, “You are in my bedroom.”

“Yes...” the blond man nodded, “I was hoping we could have a chat.”

Fenris stared at him.

“Are you insane?”

“No...?” Anders cocked his head to the side, “Not crazy...why?”

“You are aware that I was trying to kill or capture you a mere few hours ago...correct?”

“And I say...lets let by gones be by gones.” Anders gave him a small grin and moved a little closer, “Look...I’m just here to talk...”

“Why?” Fenris sounded exasperated, “There is no logical reason for you to be here! In a house full of people who want you captured. Or dead.”

“I didn’t get to give you my address after our date this afternoon.” Anders flashed him a small pout, “You didn’t even offer to walk me home.”

“If you had surrendered I would have walked you somewhere else. With chains.”

“Kinky, but chains are usually something I save for a second or third date.” 

Fenris just gave him a look.

“Maker you’re one of those broody sorts aren’t you?”

“I do not brood.”

“I know brooding my dear elf.” Anders sat down on the end of his bed, ignoring Fenris’ dark glare, “My best friend is a professional at it. Moody bastard. You met him today actually. Shiny hair, fancy bow? I think he liked you.”

“He shot an arrow in my leg.”

“It wasn’t your head? Or your heart....” Anders gave a little shrug, “He likes to make a lasting impression. He’s a drama queen at heart.”

“Is there something you want Anders?” Fenris growled the words, feeling utterly wrong footed.

What kind of prey sat down on his hunter’s bed and asked to have a chat?

“You don’t like magic...” Anders said, face sobering a little.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why does it matter?” Fenris’ green eyes narrowed at him.

“It doesn’t...not really...just...you don’t have to be afraid of us you know? Mages? We’re not all cracknobs who slit our wrists and dance in naked rituals.”

“Mages all have that potential.”

“But,” And Anders leant forward, “Anyone has the potential to wreak terrible destruction...Mages are more obvious...but...you for instance...you have that big sword...you could massacre tens of people...innocents...if you so chose...but we don’t lock you up or kill you because you have that potential do we?”

“I fight at the behest of no demon.”

“Neither do I.” Anders said quietly.

Fenris just looked at him. “But you admit that many Mages make that choice. Demons. Blood Magic.”

“Of course they do. Some people just can’t say no!” Anders flaps a hand, “I’m not fighting for those idiots. They make all of us look bad. I’m fighting for the Mages who don’t choose the easy route...the ones who say no.”

“If Mages are free...” Fenris said gruffly, “They would take power. And what happens now...would pale in comparison.”

“You...truly believe that?” Anders looked shocked, “Maker...no...that’s not.”

“I have seen firsthand what Mages can do.” Fenris growled at him, “I have suffered in their hands. I will not allow that to happen to any others.”

Anders shook his head, “Not all Mages are like that.”

“I hear that so often,” Fenris shook his head, “And yet how often I find it isn’t true.”

“You’ll see.” Anders told him, “I’ll prove to you my Mages are not weak.”

“Your proof means nothing to me.” Fenris growled, “If you seek to convert me Anders then you are wasting your time.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you in bed?” Anders cheeky smile was back, “It is a lovely view...even with those blankets. Why don’t you have a fire in the grate?”

“I do not need one.”

“Tetchy little thing aren’t you.” Anders slowly stood and stretched, “Well I should go but...we’ll meet again...”

“I am sure...”

The mage grinned at him and sauntered to the window, climbing onto the sill.

“Oh...by the way,” he stuck his head back in, “What’s your name again?”

Fenris rolled his eyes, “Fenris.”

“Wolf.” Anders nodded thoughtfully, “Suits you...sleep well Puppy.”

And with a soft muttered spell the mage dropped out of sight from the window.

Fenris was out of his bed in an instant, reaching the sill in two strides, his bare body tingling in the cold air. 

Anders was at the far street corner, and Fenris saw the Mage turn and look back. He definitely saw the lewd eyebrow wiggle and flattened himself against the wall with a scowl.

When he looked back...Anders was gone.

And when he turned to go back to bed, he saw there was a small fire burning in the hearth.

Despite himself, there was a small smile on his mouth as he slid back into bed. And it was there still, when he finally fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders gets a visit from a member of the Templar Order

The Templar had been watched from the moment he entered Darktown.

Anders watched the Templar striding up the stairs to the clinic he ran with Merrill and Bethany and took up his place beside the door, waiting for the man to step inside. It was quiet, late evening, the lamp was out, and the girls were back at the sanctuary. It was just him here...him and the man carrying a greatsword.

Slowly the door swung open and Anders leapt, staff swishing down into the space where he had expected the man to be. With surprise he glanced up and yelped as a massive sword pummel thumped into his ribs, sending him stumbling away, staff coming up in case of a follow up blow.

The door slammed shut as Anders called ice to his fingertips, sending a wave of freeze outwards, holding the heavily armoured warrior back. It wouldn’t last long, he knew that, and even as he summoned a spell to force the man to sleep, he heard the ice crack.

A second later he was leaping away from the sweep of the greatsword, using his staff to redirect the force of the blow, and sending a sharp bolt of electrical energy into the man’s armour.

He had gotten too close though, he realised too late as the Templar gripped his robes and pinned him to the ground, sword pressed lightly to his neck.

“You need some new tricks.” The Templar shed his helmet to reveal a young man with thick black hair and sharp blue eyes, “I hope you’re not using those lame ass moves to keep my sister safe.’

“Carver,” Anders rolled his eyes, “You know, I enjoy our little chats. But would you mind, getting off me now. That armour is sodding heavy.”

“That’s the idea.” Carver huffed down at him, “You automatically assume that because I’m armoured up, I can’t move faster. You don’t spar against enough warriors. You need to hone your technique.”

“Carver!”

“Fine...” the boy got up, clanking in his heavy plate, and hauled Anders up with him, “You haven’t been practicing.”

“Why thank you mother dearest for that update.” Anders bit back, cross that he hadn’t managed to defeat Carver, “But you have. Been torturing innocent Mages in the sparring ring Ser Carver?”

Carver’s mouth pinched slightly.

“You know damn well the reason I joined the Templars.” He bit back crossly, “Well I’ve got you some fetching information, if you want it.”

“Language little Hawke.” Anders laughed softly, “What would Garrett say...”

“Don’t call me that!” Carver snapped, “And leave my brother out of this!”

“So predictable...” Anders sat down on a chair and gave Carver his most insouciant look, “I’m amazed that armour hasn’t moulded to the shape of that chip on your shoulder yet...”

“Anders I swear one day I will throttle you...” the Templar flung himself down into the seat opposite him, “Stop taunting me. I deserve respect. I bring you good information.”

“You do...the information anyway...” Anders grinned at the boys dark scowl, “What have you got Carver?”

“It’s not Cullen.” Carver sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, “He’s been coming to the Circle to train and he talks about the Witchfinder...it’s not him. He doesn’t even twitch when Mages walk by him in the halls. It has to be the Vael...or that elf with them.”

“Fenris?” Anders laughed softly, “Hardly...”

“You know his name?” Carver looked surprise, “He’s been very private...reclusive even. Except for my brother of course. He’s been invited to the Estate for a dinner party. With Vael and Cullen of course.”

“We’ve met.”

“Fighting doesn’t count.”

“We’ve still met.”

“And you’re sure he’s not the Witchunter?” Carver pushed, leaning in, “Because his body is freaking covered in Lyrium. He came to the Gallows once and some of the Templars nearly drooled over him. He didn’t like it much...”

“I’ll bet...” Anders said quietly, “He can’t be the Witchunter...”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“We didn’t even consider him...” Anders’ mind was whirling, remembering Fenris chasing him down, his presence behind the other two in the markets, those green eyes, sharp and bright. The lyrium...singing against his magic...

“Reckon that was the idea.” Carver looked smug, “Might not be him of course...could be Vael, sanctimonious arse that he is.”

Anders shook his head and rubbed his face, “Fuck...”

“Language Anders,” Carver taunted back, “What would dear Garrett say.”

“Pretty sure he’d say fuck too. Maybe ‘fuck me’...”

“Leaving!” Carver stood with almost comic haste, “And don’t shag my brother.”

“Can he shag...”

“No!” Was the answer shouted back as the boy practically ran from the clinic, “No shagging!”

“I swear I wasn’t such a prude at his age...” Anders mused to himself, pursing his lips, smiling slightly. But the smile slowly faded as he considered what Carver had told him.

Fenris could be the Witchunter...well this changed...everything.

“I need to be at that dinner party.” He mused, and headed for the Hawke Estate.

He and Garrett needed to discuss dinner plans.


End file.
